


making eyes across the room (I plan my journey so I bump into you)

by scarlett_starlett



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Miles is a Matchmaking Genius, Peter Parker will always work for the Bugle in any multiverse sorry I don't make the rules, Sort Of, Wade Wilson loves gardening fight me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 17:29:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14982053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlett_starlett/pseuds/scarlett_starlett
Summary: Peter regularly goes photographing in the New York Botanic Gardens.Wade is their resident horticulturalist.Miles is only doing this for an elective.But if he can bring two idiots in love together, he figures he can opt out of the rest of his hours if he pitches it just right to his teacher.





	making eyes across the room (I plan my journey so I bump into you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kVader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kVader/gifts).



> A disgustingly long time ago, K_Vader [wrote me a fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12565832) and I nearly died (true story!) and, like one suffering from oxygen deprivation does because they were gifted something and _nearly died_ , I promised to write her a fic of her choice and she picked this really cute idea! God, it was adorable. It would have had aquariums and banter and probably way too many fish jokes. 
> 
> AND I WROTE THIS INSTEAD I'M SORRY VADER FORGIVE ME YOUR CUTE ASS AQUARIUM DATE PROMPT IS BALLS-DEEP IN WIP HELL.

 

“Does he always do that?” 

“Do what? Who?” 

“Uh—that guy in all green—does he always, y’know...talk to himself?” 

“That’s Wade Wilson, and he’s the Head Horticulturalist of this division and,  _yeah_ , he does that a lot,” Ganke, his best friend and the person who got him this volunteer position in the first place, says, while Miles warily eyes the so-called Wade Wilson, who was currently very excitedly telling a small patch of bright pink tulips which  _Golden Girls_ episode had him in stitches last night. “He says it helps the flowers grow stronger? I dunno’, man, whatever works. This whole area was dead before he came in and grew something on it.” 

“Serious?” 

“Serious.” Ganke goes back to pruning while Miles watches Wade for a bit longer, nervously eying his broad back and muscled shoulders, hulking and dangerous compared to the soft, small flowers that sat rooted before him. Honestly, the man looked like he belonged in the Marines as a drill instructor, not in the New York Botanic Gardens. He wore long-sleeved green coveralls, his hands covered in thick gardening gloves, and a white surgical mask with a silly red-and-black insignia with happy eyes drawn on it. Miles wonders how he managed to work and not fall over in a faint when it was so humid and hot in the greenhouse. Wade even has a hat on. Upon squinting, Miles realizes it’s a woman’s sunhat.  

“So he talks to the flowers, then?” 

“Sometimes. He talks to himself, too.” 

“And you’re totally okay with that? That doesn’t bother you at all?” 

Ganke glances up at that, frowning. “Hey, man, he isn’t hurting anyone, alright? He doesn’t even  _talk_  to us, or anyone aside from Preston—he’s usually busy with other gardening stuff, like the hard stuff. The pre-treatment and growing part. He keeps to himself when he can so I don’t see a problem with it, especially since he’s actually really cool when you get to talk to him.” 

“I’m not saying it’s a  _bad_  thing, chill out, Ganke. Just—it’s unnerving, I guess—?” He cuts himself off when Wade stands up suddenly and looks over at him. He sucks in a breath and takes a step back in horror, wide eyes flicking over the ruin that is Wade’s face, the scars that litter every inch of skin available. It looks like he had been burned alive; his skin a hurt, sunburn red in parts and twisted knots of flesh that disappeared beneath his shirt. The shock of bright blue and surprisingly lucid eyes is almost as startling. Wade looks away just as suddenly and the volunteer finally takes a breath. “What the fuck happened to him?” 

“Dunno’. Doesn’t like talking about it, and I suggest leaving it at that. Whatever happened to him, he has to see it every single day of his life. Don’t you think he’s been through enough?”  

Miles’ chest draws tight at that, and he looks down at his feet in shame. He hadn’t thought of that, and he knows his mother would scold him and look at him in utmost disappointment if she found out how he behaved on his first real job gig. No, worse: she’d be disappointed at how poorly he acted towards another  _person,_  period. She’d make him formally apologize, perhaps even sign him up for some volunteer hours at the hospital. Miles finds himself thinking he wouldn’t object to it; it really is insensitive to think so lowly of a person he’s never spoken to before based solely on their appearance and a couple of odd, if harmless, quirks. 

He’s picking up his pruner when a glint catches his eye from across the greenhouse, and he notices a slender man with a very expensive camera slung around his neck wandering down the path. This isn’t unusual; he sees a lot of photographers in the gardens, especially around the special exhibits and lush areas where birds liked to nest. But this one catches his eye because of the way he's glancing around. He’s handsome—sharp nose, cheekbones, and eyes that could pass for green if the sun hadn’t caught them and illuminated the golden-brown flecks in them. The man pushes up his glasses and lifts his camera and Miles feels a weird sense of outrage when he realizes the man is pointing that camera at  _Wade_. 

“Hey—hey, hey, dude!” Miles fervently slaps his friend on the arm.  

“What? What is it now? We have to finish this before our shift is up or else we’re gonna get it from Preston!”  

“Do you see that? That guy’s photographing Wade! Isn’t that, like, illegal?”  

“Oh, him. Nah, it’s fine.” Ganke goes back to pruning, ignoring his friend’s disbelief.  

“How is that  _fine_ —you were just telling me to be nicer to Wade, and I’m pretty sure that dude over there is taking pictures of ‘em like he’s some freakshow!”  

“Nah, pretty sure he likes him.” 

“… _What?”_  

“Lookit,” Ganke nods at the photographer, whose looking down his scope, shoulders drawn up in a professional shrug as he tilts his head and adjusts the zoom. Miles does, and he squints when the dude quickly moves over to some hanging plants when Wade looks up, confused for a moment, then back down to continue babbling to the tulips. The photographer peeks back around, and one more squint helps Miles see the splotchy red that appears on the guys face, his focus on Wade and seemingly not on the other people walking past or around him. “See? Pretty sure he’s just gay for Wade.”  

Surprisingly, Ganke might be onto something there. 

“Huh...how long has he been doing this?” 

“’Bout a month and a half now. I was mad at first, too, but it just looks like he’s trying to talk to him. Wade takes care of a different area of the gardens every week and that guy has been in every single one, every day, for  _hours_ just looking at him through his camera and trying to talk to him—it’s  _really_ funny, and kinda’ creepy, but mostly funny, coz Wade has  _no idea he’s being hit on!_ Think all the fertilizer has gone to his head if he doesn’t notice someone’s trying to get in his pants.” 

“Or he doesn’t think anyone would ever hit on him looking like he does. Ever," Miles states, grimly. He doesn't want to be that guy, but the world is a cruel place. Miles feels more shame weigh in his gut at the thought of contributing to it. "I kinda’ doubt it a little, too.” 

“Fucked up,” Ganke comments, but doesn’t deny it. “Why are you all up in arms about Wade, anyway? You were just dissing him a second ago.” 

“Yeah, well,” Miles scowls, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t think about it that way, alright? That he’s had it rough. Just got me thinking, is all. My ma’ takes care of a lot of burn patients at the hospital, so…”  

“Well, can’t do anything about it anyway. Also, don’t mention that Wade. He put the last volunteer that gave him the pity talk in the hospital.” 

“Excuse me? _”_  

"Oh, right. _Allegedly_ put them in the hospital." 

" _WHAT?!_ " 

“Here, go get me my other gloves, will you? These are all messed up and I can  _feel_ the year-old dirt caked inside of them,” Ganke cheerfully asks, shoving the gloves in his face without another word.  

“…Right. SSure. But we’re  _so_ talking about this!” Miles mutters. It was totally unfair to drop that kind of information on him like it was nothing. He’s trudging to the shed that’s kept outside of the large greenhouse when he notices that photographer again, leaning against the railing and smiling faintly at the rambling Wade Wilson, who was now excitedly gesticulating at another patch of tulips about something or the other.  

He isn’t  _exactly_ the interfering type, but he’s still feeling guilty about being so afraid and repulsed by Wade for no other reason than he doesn’t look like everyone else, and if Wade somehow has a shot with this dude, then why not? 

Ganke is right: he’s been through  _enough._  

“You should ask him out,” Miles states when he sidles up next to the photographer, and the he nearly loses his balance in his shock.  

“What—I mean, no way, I can’t—I mean, what are you talking about? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Who are you again?” He nervously laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose. Miles stares at him and the photographer goes redder, if possible. “Uh….am I that obvious?” 

Miles only gives him a deadpan look. “I've only been here a  _day_ and I know. Seriously. Just ask him. He isn’t gonna’ ask you since he doesn’t know you like him.” And with that, he figures he’s done his one good deed for the day, except the photographer grabs him by the shirt and rushes out: 

“What do you  _mean_  he doesn’t know? No, never mind, I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m a  _creep_. I’m here, like, every day! For…longer than I’ll ever admit.”  

“I  _mean_ ,” Miles begins, shrugging the photographers hand off, “when you look like Freddy Kruger’s slightly more attractive younger brother, your first thought isn’t  _exactly_ that you’re being hit on—more like, you didn’t have anyone else around to ask so you sucked it up and asked the Crypt to move on with your day.” 

The photographer scowls at that. “Hey, rude. Were all those comparisons really necessary?” 

“Facts,” he throws back. “Look, just ask him, alright? Be forward. He’s—don’t you think he’s been through enough with people? Like, I’m not saying I  _wasn’t_ freaked out by him, I just don’t like being a bully so I feel bad that I judged him so harshly at first glance. It turns out a lot of people do that coz we're shitty. But if he’s got a shot with someone, I just wanna give him that chance since it looks like he isn’t gonna’ do it himself, at least from what I've heard.”  

The photographer backs up a bit, thoughtful, and looks over at Wade for a long moment. Then he's looking back at him with a friendly, soft, smile. It’s difficult to really be angry or annoyed with him; there is something  _good,_ almost naïve, in the way the photographer holds out his hand and says, “That’s very generous of you. My name’s Peter—Peter Parker. I work for the Daily Bugle as a photographer and they have a Gardening section that I supply photos for regularly.”  

“Miles,” he answers back cautiously, taking his hand. “New volunteer, doing this for school. I heard from my friend Ganke over there that Wade’s…been through a lot, so…yeah. I would just bite the bullet and go for it. The worst that can happen is he says no, and even that isn’t the worst when you think about what  _he’s_ gone through.” 

Peter’s eyes tighten around the corners at the implication, and he nods quietly, fiddling with the strap of his camera. “Yeah…I guess that’s true. Well, thanks, Miles, for giving me that advice. I really appreciate it, and hopefully I see you around more often—maybe not under these circumstances, though.” 

“Sure, nice meeting you, too, I guess,” Miles replies, and walks backwards towards the door that will take him to the shed. “If you do ask him, don’t tell ‘em I told you to! It’ll cramp my style, okay?” 

Peter quirks a lopsided grin at the teen. “Got’cha. No cramping of styles will happen, promise.” 

Miles hurries out after that and exhales a breath, shaking his head. “Jeez. I’m only doing this for an elective, too,” he grumbles, embarking on his quest to find another pair of decent gardening gloves in the cluttered mess that was the East Wing shed.  

 

* * *

 

“Dude, not to be extremely nosy or anything, but  _he’s actually talking to Wade!_ ” Ganke excitedly hush-screams, prodding the handle of his trowel into Miles ribs repeatedly.  

“Ow—stop that! I have eyes! I know!” Miles hisses, but stares just as intently as Ganke does as Peter kneels beside Wade, a soft, but amused, grin curling his lips wider and wider the more Wade spoke—which seemed to be  _a lot_ and  _quickly,_ given how fast his lips were moving.  

Peter’s smile grew wider when Wade choked from talking so fast.  

Both boys stare, fascinated.

Like watching a train wreck.

“Amazing…Wade has no game," Miles conclides.

“Absolutely none.” 

“How did he make it this far?” 

“Sheer luck,” Ganke says, solemnly. “They are _so gay_  for each other.” 

“Extremely,” Miles agrees. “Hey, do you think Mr. Howard will let me off if I write a report on them? He’s a sucker for a good romance—he still thinks the whole class doesn’t know about the Harlequin novel stash in his office.” 

“Probably. Worth a shot. Do it, but don’t tell him you are, it’s all in the  _surprise_ ,” Ganke wiggles his fingers at Miles, who bats them away with a snort. Both of them quickly lose their good cheer when they notice that Wade has stopped talking, broad shoulders bunched up and tense.  

Miles can  _hear_ his panic from across the greenhouse.  

"Uh oh." 

"Don't do it." 

They watch as Wade ducks his head, adjusting the strap of his surgical mask hastily, and Peter lifts his hand to help. He carefully hooks the strap back around his ear and if Wade’s eyes grew any wider, Miles thinks they’ll pop out of his sockets, and then he’ll  _really_ have a hard time dating.  

Peter just gives an awkward, but earnest, smile.  

Wade is staring at him like he hung the sun up in the sky. 

“ _So gay_ , I’m writing the report,” Miles agrees, nodding solemnly. “I can’t stomach this for much longer.” 

“I feel kinda’ bad for not intervening like you did. That was a really nice thing you did. It wasn’t, like,  _too nos_ _y,_ it was just nosy enough. Maybe I should have done something. I bet if I had, Wade could have had me placed in a better garden—like, the ones outside, where we can breathe  _real_   _air_. He’s a bro like that if you get into his good graces.” 

“And where would that leave  _me?”_  

“Hey, man, sometimes you just gotta’ look out for yourself!” Ganke shrugs, and hisses when Miles jams his elbow into his ribs in retaliation. 

“Stone cold, Ganke. I thought we were brothers!” 

“It is what it is.”  

“Next time, I’ll just leave you in this dank ass tent then.” 

“ _Miles_ ,” Ganke whines, but Miles is distracted by the way Wade hastily stands up, waving an arm around stiltedly, and then promptly  _runs_ _away._

“Uh. I have to go to the restroom!”  

“What.” 

“I’ll be back in a sec! Cover me!” Miles quickly says, and follows when the man exits the greenhouse like hell itself was biting at the back of his ankles. Miles skirts around a group of fascinated tourists and catches the back of Wade’s foot disappearing into the men’s restroom.  

He bursts in a few seconds later and blinks when he finds Wade in an actual stall.  

 _Maybe... he just really had to go?_  

Awkwardly, Miles coughs into his fist and decides he might as well relieve himself while he was here.  

And wash his hands.  _Thoroughly._  

Triple pump the soap. 

Extra hot water, too. 

Maybe another pump of soap.  

Cold water this time.  

He’ll use the airdryer, too. 

Maybe he’ll use it just  _one more time_ _,_ he can never dry his hands fully on the first go _._  

Was that a zit on his face? Maybe he’ll check that out, too. 

Miles is poking at a blackhead on his nose, wrinkling his brow at it, when Wade  _finally_ shifts in the stall and does nothing at all for the next five minutes.  

Miles looks down at his watch. It’s been a whole 15 minutes and, deciding to risk it, he peeks down under the stall a bit to catch a glimpse of Wade's ankles. He narrows his eyes when he sees Wade doesn’t even have his pants down and  _he is covered from head to toe so he_ _HAS to_ _take off some layers to go._  

“You can’t avoid him forever.” 

“WHA—WHOZZAH?! Who’s there _...God?”_   

“Sure. Let's go with that. It’s God." 

"Why do you sound like Donald Glover?" 

"Who?" 

"My bad. I should have addressed you by your true name, Childish Gambino. That was short-sighted of me and I'm sorry."  

"I... _what_...no, forget it, look. You can’t avoid Peter forever, alright? You gotta' just go for it.” 

“How do you know his name?!” 

“I thought we established this. I’m  _God_ , remember?”  

“Oh, really? I didn’t know  _God_ was a fan of LIGHT UP SKETCHERS?!” 

Miles sees a finger point out accusingly at his feet from underneath the stall and he takes a step back defensively. He was  _not_ going to bring his brand-new 150-dollar Jordan’s to go  _gardening_ so the Sketchers his grandmother bought him last Christmas it was _._  

“ _Pretty_  presumptuous of you to assume God’s interests in shoes,” Miles judges and Wade hisses but accepts the burn. “Look, I don’t want to beat around the bush, alright?  _Peter_   _likes you._ He’s been trying to work up the courage to talk to you the entire time you’ve seen him around the gardens.” 

Wade snorts derisively. “I bet he has. Takes at least two decently-sized balls to come up to someone like  _me._ ” 

“Okay, one, never say that sentence to me again. I’m pretty sure it’s illegal in the State of New York.  _Two_ , just coz  _you_ think you look like Freddy Kruger’s younger, more attractive, brother, doesn’t mean everyone else does.” 

“Creative. Like I haven’t heard  _that_ one before.” 

“You make it easy."  

“I actually really haven’t heard  _that one_ before, I usually make it hard.” 

“I repeat: never say that sentence to me ever again. Three, you can’t be this dumb. You  _must_ have felt a vibe.” 

“A certain  _type of way._ ” 

“A  _feeling_  in your gut,” Miles plays along. “Look. I know you’ve been through a lot. We all have, but you especially, and sometimes you just get lucky and you end up having some really hot photographer who wants in your pants because he thinks your biceps are great or something.” 

“ _Oh, my God_ _.._ _._ he thinks my biceps are great?How do you know, did he tell you!? Tell me everything!!”Wade gasps and wiggles in his seat. 

The automatic toilet flushes and Miles slaps a hand over his face.   

“NO. It’s an example—ANYWAY! The whole point to this is that you need stop hiding behind your own insecurities and just go for it. Getting rejected by  _one dude,_ or even a hundred dudes,  _cannot_ be worse than whatever you have gone through. Whatever you’re  _going through,”_ Miles adds, earnestly. “Life sucks a lot sometimes, dude, but I  _promise_ that if you take this chance…it’ll work out. Or at least you can score a  _date_ , I can’t actually promise anything beyond that,” Miles adds quickly, just in case. “But isn’t a date better than nothing at all?” 

Wade is quiet for a moment. 

The toilet flushes again. 

Miles closes his eyes and breathes in deeply for patience.  

“…Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Wade finally admits, and Miles sighs in relief. “Thanks, God! Hey, while we’re at it, what are today’s lottery numbers—?” 

“Nope,” Miles says, and walks out of the restroom. He manages to return to Ganke's side just as Wade is entering the greenhouse, nervously looking around, and his eyes land on Miles and Ganke for a moment. Miles just raises a brow and nods slowly, and Wade snaps his sights somewhere behind a thick wall of foliage. He seems to take a breath first before heading in that direction.  

“So?” Ganke hisses, expectantly. 

“He’ll do it,” Miles states, confidently. “We had a talk.” 

“Dude, you’re gonna’  _ace_ this class.” 

“Ain’t nothing to it but to do it,” Miles grins and bumps fists with him.  

 

* * *

 

A week later finds Miles stabbing the ground with his trowel, growling when he can’t get even an inch into the dirt. It was like concrete; at this point, they should just pave over it. Preston had assigned him the  _worst_ area to tend to  _after_ making him rearrange the displays at Guest Services and the entrance by himself, all because he didn’t finish up his side of the work last week because he’d been too busy trying to get Wade and Peter to  _talk_ to each other for more than five minutes.  

That’s what he gets for trying to be a  _good person_ , but did Preston listen? Nope. She didn’t even blink when he argued his case, just rose a brow and told him not to do it again and then put him in the worst area this week.  

“Fuck.” 

“Gasp. Who taught you that word, young man?! Was it the big bad ‘ol Miss Preston? She can have a potty mouth on her, that’s for sure!”  

Miles nearly jumps out of his skin when he realizes Wade is crouching right next to him, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. He can’t see most of his face because of his mask, but he  _can_ see how his eyes crinkle, glinting with amusement, when Miles loses his balance and falls on his butt.  

“When did you get here?! How?”  

“Not hard to when you’re so focused on getting that shovel into the ground. By the way, the area you’re supposed to be digging up is  _that_ _one,_ ” Wade drawls, pointing at an entirely different plot. Miles spots the green flags and, when he looks at his plot, notices the red ones.  

“ _Fuck,_ ” he groans, with feeling.  

“Fuck is right, but on the bright side, you’re free to go,” Wade beams. 

“…Wait, what? Did I just get fired?” Miles asks, paling.  

“Nope. You just completed your hours, kiddo. You’re free! You can go and do whatever teenagers do to pass the time, like binge Netflix shows or participate in peaceful protests.” 

“No way. That can’t be right, I just started last week—!” Miles shuts up when Wade pulls out a form from his pocket, unfolding it and letting Miles read that he’d completed his mandatory 60 hours of volunteer work. He takes it slowly, not believing it. But the time-sheet was signed by Wade  _and_ Preston. “But…but I just started?” 

“And now you’re done. Weird how that works, huh?”  

Miles folds the paper up again and looks up at Wade. “So…I’m guessing you scored a date with Peter?”  

“I scored a date with Peter,” Wade agrees. “Four dates, actually. He even walked me home last night!” 

“Gross.” 

“It’s romantic and your generation needs to learn how to appreciate the little things again!”  

Miles snorts at that but smiles, earnestly. “That’s great, though. I’m glad it worked out, man, see? I told you! But this is…you didn’t have to do this. I would’ve done the rest of the hours, no problem. I appreciate it, though. Really frees up my schedule, ya’ feel?”  

“Oh, I completely do. But, full disclosure, I’m doing this more for me than for you.” 

“Huh?” 

“I usually get two volunteers who work with me in each area. With you two gone, it’ll take Preston another  _week_ to get a replacement with all the work she has piled up on her desk, which means I get to have Peter  _all to myself_ in the garden. For  _hours._ ” 

“…First of all, _again_ , never say that sentence to me again.” 

Wade rolls his eyes. This again. 

“Also,  _nice_ ,” Miles smirks, and they both fist bump in solidarity. “I’m taking this sheet of paper and I’m leaving immediately. Gran’s lucky I even wore these shoes for as long as I did. They cramp my style, dude, they  _light up!_ ” 

“I know! They’re so cool!” Wade whines. 

“Maybe in 2002, when _you_ were cool.” 

“Ouch. That one hurt a little, but you just wait! Light up shoes are gonna’ make a come-back in 2041 and you’ll regret not keeping your light-up Sketchers when they do! They’re gonna’ bring  _all_ the girls to the yard, even the ones you didn’t want. Mostly the ones you didn’t want. It’ll be the worst, you’ll have the  _worst time,_ and you’ll have to throw away your cursed Sketchers because they’re too powerful.”  

“Doubtful,” Miles laughs, but dusts himself off and sends another grateful grin to Wade. “By the way, can I write a report on how I got you two together for my class? I wanna’ get out of another volunteer thing next year and I can probably convince my teacher to do it if I make it sappy enough.” 

“Absolutely  _not…_ unless you promise me you’ll let me use it in my wedding vows.” 

“Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself? You just met this dude, like, a week ago.” 

“The proximity effect is  _real_ and I am a man of patience and strategy! How do you think I revived this shithole Preston dumped me with!” Wade gestures around to the other half of the greenhouse that was sprouting with life. “Not without some fucking patience and a  _shit-ton_ of fertilizer. Don't worry. I'll make this work. I'll even invite you to the reception.”  

“…I believe in you,” Miles says after a moment, holding out his hand. “Deal.” 

“ _Yes_ _ss_ ,” Wade whisper-squeals, and Miles thinks this is probably the best meddling he’s ever done because now he’ll have enough free-time next year to work on some new prototypes for the Stark Expo that he can  _definitely_ participate in now  _and_ his matchmaking game was on point. 

Take  _that,_ Kamala.    


End file.
